


Crossed Wires

by earlgay_milktea



Category: Among Us (Video Game)
Genre: (slaps roof of fic) this baby can fit so many genres, Action, Attempt at Humor, Many Deaths, Murder Mystery, Other, Romance, don't worry it's all plot-relevant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-22
Updated: 2020-11-22
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:49:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,721
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27667043
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/earlgay_milktea/pseuds/earlgay_milktea
Summary: “You’re hopeless,” said Pink, with feeling. If White went to Crescent Academy, he would’ve been eaten alive by the instructors.White made a peace sign. “Hopelessly cool, you mean?”Pink stared at him for a long, long moment. Instead of giving up, White just threw an arm over Pink’s shoulders and tugged them closer. “C’mon. You love me. You can just say it.”“I hate you,” snapped Pink.“Aw, you don’t mean that.”Alternatively: dumbass Imposter falls in love with scarily-competent Crewmate. What happens next may shock you.Alternatively, alternatively: I WENT TO SPACE AND ALMOST DIED??? (TRUE STORY) (SPACE TRIP GONE WRONG GONE SCARY) (BODY COUNT: 6) (NOT CLICKBAIT)
Relationships: Crewmate & Impostor (Among Us), Crewmate/Impostor (Among Us), Pink/White (Among Us)
Comments: 29
Kudos: 125





	Crossed Wires

For all that MIRA boasted about being at the cutting-edge of space travel, the Skeld was the shabbiest ship that Pink had ever been on. And that was really saying something, because every cadet was assigned a minimum of a hundred hours aboard their school-sanctioned spacecraft before they could even hope to set foot beyond the orbit of Earth, and Crescent Academy’s ships were at least a decade out-of-date. Pink, upon graduating with full honours and a flawless record, walked out of that graduation hall with every intention of spending the rest of their days soaring among the stars. They would become a pilot. A cargo pilot, a fighter pilot, a commercial pilot – it didn’t matter. Pink wanted to fly, and they also wanted to _never_ deal with faulty wiring or dodgy lights ever again. _Never._

Pink’s hopes were all for naught. The Skeld was everything Pink hated about their school spacecrafts, but ten times worse. 

Its oxygen systems were on the fritz, the wiring kept ripping, the shields were full of holes, the auto-defence system was the furthest thing from auto, and _the reactor kept melting down._

If Pink had to spend one more day on this ship, they were going to strangle someone. Or themself. It would be hard through their bulky spacesuits, but Pink was nothing if not tenacious. _A true prodigy,_ their teachers used to call them. _A rising star in intergalactic exploration. The most gifted cadet in their generation._

Today, the most gifted cadet in their generation was fixing the wiring again. It was _always_ wiring. If Pink had a cent for every time they had to repair the wiring, they’d have enough money to refurbish the Skeld and buy a new spacecraft to cruise back to Earth. A single-seater, of course. Pink only had room in their head for themself, their ship, and the beautifully dark expanse of outer space—

“Pink!” 

Pink’s hands slipped, the wires sparked, and the entire electrical room was plunged into darkness. 

“White,” said Pink. They didn’t bother keeping the irritation out of their tone. White was too stupid to notice anyway. 

Of all the crew members aboard the Skeld, Pink was by far the most competent. This wasn’t an exaggeration. They finished their tasks the quickest, they were the best repairman, and they were the crewmate that the others deferred to, despite there being no difference in rank. Within any group of people, a hierarchy tended to form, and Pink was unquestionably at the top. 

White was at the bottom. 

“Oh, it sure is dark in here,” he said. A noise sounded from behind Pink. It sounded like a crash, like White had tripped over something. “Oops!” he said, entirely too cheerful. It grated on Pink. “Haven’t you repaired the wires yet?”

“I was _about to_ , but you interrupted me,” Pink bit out. 

White laughed. “Sorry ‘bout that!”

Pink could hear him moving closer, eventually settling beside Pink on the floor. Pink fervently hoped he didn’t step on any more wires. 

“What are you even doing here?” Pink asked. “You don’t have any tasks in electrical today.” Their helmet light flicked on. It was barely enough to work by, but it’d have to suffice. 

“I wanted to check on you,” said White, easy as anything. In the shallow pool of light, Pink could make out the way he sat cross-legged, arms propped behind him, his helmet turned to Pink in nonchalant attention. 

“Well, now you’ve checked on me,” said Pink, curt. “You can go now.”

“I could go,” agreed White. “Or… I could stay.”

“Why?”

“Do I need a reason to hang out with my favourite crewmate?”

Pink sighed. “Have you forgotten how to do the MedBay scan again?”

White ducked his head, the picture of bashfulness. “... Maybe.” 

Pink sighed again. “Just let me finish up here.”

They finished repairing the wires with little fanfare. The lights flickered on again, and Pink’s helmet adjusted to the change accordingly; its own torchlight fading out. White jumped up and offered Pink a hand. Pink ignored it. 

“This is the _last time_ , okay?” they said. “I’m not showing you how to scan again. You’d better pay attention.”

“That’s what you said yesterday. And the day before that. And the—” 

“I _mean it_ this time.”

“Okay, okay.” Even though Pink couldn’t see White’s face, they knew he was grinning. Pink didn’t bother deigning him with a response. Instead, Pink stood up, dusted themself off, and started for the MedBay. 

White was infuriating in more ways than one. He was _always_ asking people to help him with tasks, _always_ walking in at the most inopportune times, and _always_ tripping over his own feet. Pink was baffled as to why he got this job. Sure, the qualifications weren’t that steep, but couldn’t they have tested him for baseline competence? And if they did, _how in the ever-loving fuck did he pass?_ It was like White had cement sloshing around in his helmet instead of a brain. He didn’t notice when Yellow foisted her dinner clean-up duties on him last week. He didn’t notice Cyan asking him to empty the garbage chute whenever Cyan himself didn’t feel like it. He didn’t notice all the little ways that the crew used him for favours. Honestly, it was a little sad – Pink didn’t think a person could be so obtuse unless they were faking it. But apparently, White was just like that. 

“I’m showing you this for the last time, so watch closely,” said Pink, stepping up the scanner. They made their motions slow. “You press _this_ button, then _this_ one, then you tap _confirm._ Do you understand?” Pink glanced behind their shoulder to check if White was paying attention. He was. Very thoroughly. White had sidled up close to Pink, close enough that Pink could glimpse his face through the thick reflective material of his helmet. It was only for a brief moment. A flash of a side-profile.

White was – startlingly sweet-looking. He had a trustworthy face. A charming kind of softness. If he took off his helmet, Pink wondered how long it would take for the crew to stop mistreating him and start fawning over him. 

Then Pink realised they were part of the problem, and felt irritated all over again. 

It didn’t matter that White had a pleasant face. He was still the densest, most incompetent crewmate Pink had the displeasure of working alongside with, and Pink wasn’t going to treat him any differently. 

“Do you understand?” they asked again. 

White helplessly shrugged. “Um… yeah?”

“You’re hopeless,” said Pink, with feeling. If he went to Crescent Academy, he would’ve been eaten alive by the instructors. 

White made a peace sign. “Hopelessly _cool,_ you mean?”

Pink stared at him for a long, long moment. Instead of giving up, White just threw an arm over Pink’s shoulders and tugged them closer. “C’mon. You love me. You can just say it.”

“I hate you,” snapped Pink. 

“Aw, you don’t mean that.”

“I really do,” said Pink. The proximity made them feel jittery. They weren’t sure whether to lean into it or push themself away. It had been a long time since they were hugged. 

_God, I’m pathetic,_ they thought with fervour. Just because White had cracked a stupid joke to mask his own stupid incompetence, just because he was hugging Pink, just because his arm was warm enough to feel through his suit, and just because the weight of it was comforting in a bone-deep way – it didn’t mean Pink should be such an _idiot_ about it. They were the team leader. They were the brightest cadet of their generation. White was just – a colleague. Just some guy. Pink didn’t have time to be thinking about White in _that_ way.

Suddenly, the emergency alarms started blaring over the intercom. It was a shock of noise; Pink flinched so hard they ended up separating themself from White.

When the alarm stopped, there was the crackle of breath over the microphone. Then, Purple’s voice, startlingly hollow: “I found Cyan’s body in Electrical.”

* * *

The crew congregated in Electrical. Pink had followed White there in a half-daze, equal parts disbelieving and terrified, a constant train of _“no way, no way, no way”_ running through their head because there _couldn’t_ be a murderer on board. The Skeld was soaring through an unpopulated quadrant of the galaxy. And even if there was an unfamiliar spacecraft nearby, the crew should’ve been notified. _Pink_ should’ve been notified. They paid special attention to these sorts of things: navigation, asteroids, shields – generally, the area around the Skeld. It was a hefty responsibility, but Pink could bear it! Even though the spaceship was constantly breaking down on the inside, at least Pink could ensure there was no danger from the outside. 

It seemed all their efforts were for naught. 

There was too much blood for three stab wounds. The scene didn’t seem real to Pink; the lurid puddle of crimson on the ground, the stiff stretch of Cyan’s arm, like he’d tried to fight back, tried to resist, but died midway. 

_“Oh,”_ Pink said faintly. Their legs felt like overcooked noodles. “Oh. Oh, Cyan.”

“Someone did this,” Yellow was saying, pacing back and forth. Her shoulders were a taut line, an elastic band ready to snap. “Someone on board. Someone snuck in – or, or they were here all along and they’ve been _hiding_ this whole time.” 

“Yellow, please,” Green pleaded. “Let’s all calm down.”

“Cyan is _dead_ , and you want me to calm down?!” 

Purple was standing a safe distance away, his arms crossed tightly. Since the rest of the crew had swarmed into Electrical, he’d remained silent, except to tell them that Cyan had been stabbed three times. Pink was about to ask him how he knew, but the three bloody holes in Cyan’s spacesuit were pretty obvious. 

Yellow and Green were snapping at each other now. Red and Blue had huddled together, casting around fearful looks as if the murderer was about to jump from the shadows. White was silent. He’d been standing next to Pink the whole time, the line of his arm pressed up against theirs. The contact was grounding. Pink focused on it, closed their eyes, and took a deep breath. White was warm. He was warm, and alive, and this was all still salvageable. Pink opened their eyes. 

“Everyone, listen up,” they said sharply. 

The crew snapped to attention. Yellow and Green ceased their bickering, Blue and Red relaxed a single inch, and Purple looked up. White turned to look at Pink head-on. For some reason, his gaze, out of all the others, made Pink feel the most nervous, but they swallowed that down. In times like these, the crew needed a strong guiding hand. Pink was more than capable of filling that role. 

“We’ll worry about Cyan’s body later,” Pink continued, channelling every ounce of authority into their voice as they could muster. “I need to send a message to MIRA Headquarters, and they’ll want evidence. I’ll send a photo or – something. For now,” Pink sighed. “Let’s go to the cafeteria to discuss.”

* * *

Pink tried to direct the discussion as best they could, but it was a lost cause. 

It was like a messed-up game of Cluedo. There was a dead body. There were three stab wounds, despite nothing on the ship being big enough to cause that damage. Yellow swore up and down she heard noises coming from the vents. Green said it was just circulation problems. White suggested that someone had snuck onto the ship and they were being listened on. At this, the entire crew moved an inch closer, as if the power of Friendship and Teamwork could protect them from a killer with a big knife. 

Purple finally spoke up. “Guys, we’re missing the obvious.”

“Enlighten us, then,” snapped Yellow. 

“One of us killed Cyan,” said Purple, blunt as ever. 

Silence reigned for a solid ten seconds. It might’ve been Pink’s imagination, but more than one person glanced in their direction. Whether it was out of suspicion or a desire for Pink to redirect the conversation, they couldn’t tell. It scared them. 

“That’s impossible,” they said, trying to sound confident. “MIRA would never let anyone with a criminal record work on a spaceship. And besides, we _know_ each other. None of us would kill Cyan.”

“Really, now,” said Purple drily. “I don’t know about you guys, but I wouldn’t exactly call myself _friends_ with anyone here. It’s only been – what, two weeks?”

His words were like a bucket of cold water. Icy realisation seeped in. As Pink looked around at the crew, it slowly dawned on them that… they didn’t _really_ know anyone here. They didn’t even know their crewmate’s real names. MIRA insisted on colour codenames to maintain a professional distance between everyone. It was to improve efficiency; if people were always skiving off and chatting with each other, nothing would get done. Pink thought it made sense at the time. Now they just wanted to scream. 

Red piped in: “What was everyone doing this whole time, anyway?” She was trying very hard to keep her voice from trembling. “Not that I think anyone here’s a killer, but. Just to make sure.”

Purple scoffed. Everyone ignored him. 

Red and Blue were in Comms. Yellow was in storage, and saw Pink passing through to Electrical, then, later, saw White. Green was working in the reactor. He saw Purple a few times. 

“Did anyone see Cyan?” said Pink. “Like, at all?”

Everyone made noncommittal noises. 

“I went to Admin after I saw White,” said Yellow. “Cyan could’ve gone to electrical then. I wouldn’t have seen him.” She paused. Then, slowly, turning to Pink, she said: “You and White were in electrical before Cyan, right?”

“Yeah,” replied Pink. “But we went to MedBay afterwards.”

“Why?”

“White needed help with the scan, why else?” snapped Pink, aggravated. 

That seemed to appease Yellow. She sighed heavily, crossing her arms. “Then, Purple. You were the one who found the body.”

“Whoa, whoa.” He held his hands up. “Do I look like I have a knife on me?”

 _“No one_ has a knife on them, because _none of us_ did it,” Pink insisted. Their voice was little too loud, but couldn’t bring themself to care. At least it got everyone’s attention.

Yellow looked like she was about to rebut, so Pink continued on: “I’m going to write an emergency message to MIRA headquarters. They’ll send help. And then we’ll be off this ship, and they’ll send in more qualified people to handle this. We’re going to be _fine.”_

“But how long is that going to take?” asked Red.

“Soon, obviously,” Pink said, but the group didn’t appear convinced. Pink tried again: “Unless MIRA wants to let a murderer run loose on one of their spaceships, they’ll _have_ to send help quickly.”

“I still think it’s one of us,” said Purple.

 _Shut the fuck up,_ Pink wanted to say. Instead, they swallowed it down, because swearing was unbecoming in a leader. “We’ll stay in groups. Report if you see anything suspicious. Anything at all.” They looked around at the crew. “Just stay focused and keep an eye out. Does that sound good?”

Not everyone seemed happy with it, but they were content to pair off and head to their separate directions. Red and Blue stuck closely together. Yellow, Green and Purple walked toward storage, keeping a careful distance between themselves. And as for Pink, they went to Comms, shoulder-to-shoulder with White.

* * *

“It could be space pirates,” White suggested. “Or an intergalactic hitman.”

“We would’ve been notified if there were spaceships nearby,” rebutted Pink. “We’re in an unpopulated area, anyway; there’s no one living here.”

White paused to think. “What about that MIRA’s cool cloaking tech? The one that prevents ships from being detected?”

Pink scoffed. “You think a criminal could _afford_ those? They’re only available to higher branches of the military. And MIRA’s got the blueprints guarded around the clock – you’d have to risk an arm and a leg to get them.”

White was silent for a moment. “You really know a lot, huh.”

Pink was too slow to stifle their smile. Then they remembered their helmet. They grinned unrepentantly as they typed up the rest of the message, their fingers flying over the keyboard. “Oh, you know. I pick up things here and there.”

“Yeah, I know,” said White. He sounded warm. The tilt of his head might’ve been fond, if Pink was a more wistful person. But as Pink watched him through the reflection of the computer screen, his occasional glances out the door, the tense set of his shoulders, the way he shifted his weight foot to foot, reality tasted all the more bitter. This was no time for Pink’s fantasies. It didn’t even make sense to be _interested_ in White, of all things. He was an idiot. He was dense, his motor skills sucked, he was cooperative to a fault, and, most importantly, _there was a murderer on board._ Pink didn’t need to have a _feelings realisation_ in the middle of a murder case. One problem at a time. 

Pink finished typing one last line, then sent it. 

“Now we wait,” they said. Things were still terrible, but at least there was a solution in sight. 

“Hold on,” White said, confused. “You never attached a photo of Cyan. Don’t you need a photo for evidence?”

Damn. Pink hadn’t expected White to actually remember that. But it was fine, right? Even if Pink told White their plan, it wasn’t like he’d leak it to anyone else, right? _Right?_  
Fuck it. Having one person on your side was better than none at all. 

Pink motioned for White to sit down. He cast one last glance at the door, then lowered himself into the seat beside Pink. 

Eye contact would make this conversation more serious, but the crew weren’t allowed to take off their helmets on-duty, so Pink would have to make do. They leaned forward, beckoning White to come closer. Pink felt a little ridiculous, like a child on a playground whispering secrets into their friend’s ear; a cheeky pair of co-conspirators. 

“Don’t tell anyone else about this,” Pink said lowly.

“Of course,” agreed White. 

Pink took a deep, steadying breath. “Murderers almost always return to the scene of the crime. If I leave Cyan’s body there, there’s a high chance that whoever killed him would go back. And in that case – I’d just have to wait and see.”

“If you camp next to the body, wouldn’t it look suspicious?”

“I have a reason, remember?” said Pink. “I’m taking pictures for evidence. I’m trying to save us.”

“But still…” White trailed off, unsure. For a moment, Pink thought he was going to try and stop them, but to their surprise, he said instead: “I’ll come with you. I know a good hiding spot.”

This time, when Pink smiled, they felt a pang of disappointment that White couldn’t see it. “I’d love that.”

* * *

When White said ‘hiding spot’, Pink expected something normal. Like awkwardly shimmying between two metal shelves. Or crouching in the shadows, only half-hidden. Or even a cubby-hole obscured by a coil of wires. 

Instead, White reached down, wormed his fingers into the holes of the ventilation grate, and _tugged._ The grate lifted with startling ease. The motion looked smooth, well-practiced, and Pink wondered if White had ever been assigned to – clean the vents, or something. It wasn’t a task Pink had ever heard of, but then again, there were a lot of things that escaped Pink’s notice. Like the fact that there was a murderer on board. 

“I didn’t know you could get in the vents,” Pink said, very purposefully not looking at Cyan’s body, which was lying nearby. The blood had started to dry.

White froze. “Uh, well, I just sorta – I found out about it. By myself.”

Pink made a considerate noise. “Hm. Good on you, I guess.”

It looked like a tight fit in the vents for two. White dropped down first, then held out his arms for Pink to – jump into? To fall into? Was he going to catch Pink like a storybook prince? That was ridiculous. Pink wasn’t even a princess, for starters. They were perfectly capable of entering a vent by themself.

The fall jarred Pink’s ankles so badly they had to sit down. 

Maybe they weren’t as capable as they thought. 

White did a terrible job of muffling his laughter, but Pink found they didn’t mind. Down here, the shadows seemed blacker, like the light was too afraid to reach deeper. Pink liked it. The darkness made things softer, more bearable. The lights of the Skeld were harsh. They were cold and white and inorganic, casting stark shadows wherever you walked. Even when the ship dimmed in accordance with the crew’s circadian rhythms, the light was still present. It would seep beneath the door of Pink’s personal quarters. It greeted Pink every time they woke, and it was the last thing they saw before they slept. 

Pink would give anything to feel the light of the sun again. 

“Hey,” whispered White. Was his voice lower, or was it Pink’s imagination? 

“Yeah?” Pink whispered back. 

“I think I hear someone.”

That put an abrupt stop to Pink’s train of thought. The only source of illumination was the light from the top of the vent, so they looked up at it, craning their neck to see who had entered.

Then Pink realised they never pulled the lid of the vent back into place. 

FUCK. 

“White,” Pink started, more calmly than they felt. “I think we have a problem.”

He paused. Pink could almost see the wheels spinning his head. He looked up. Then, like he was remarking on the state of the weather: “Oh no.”

“Oh no indeed,” Pink agreed grimly. 

They considered fixing it, but it was too late. The footsteps drew closer. 

In the dark, with a single shaft of light for illumination, sound was more pronounced. Pink could hear the thud of someone walking, the way it resounded on the metal walls, its every tremor. Pink tried to match the pattern of footsteps to a crewmate. They came up blank; walking patterns were a tricky thing to use to identify someone. 

Then, there was the sound of shifting fabric. Someone crouching down. Presumably to inspect the body. 

Pink could hardly breathe. Hardly move. They were right! The murderer _did_ come back to the scene of the crime, and if only – if only Pink could just _see_ who it was—

White grabbed their arm. Pink realised they were moving forward without realising. They tugged. White didn’t relent; tugging back and shaking his head, a silent plea. _Don’t move. Stay here._

But Pink couldn’t. They had a duty to themself and their crew, and if they let this chance slip away, they’d never forgive themself. 

They wrenched their arm back as hard as they could. 

The following happened in slow-motion: 

Pink over-balanced. They toppled back into the wall, their body making a dull sound of impact. White immediately sprung to action. He grabbed Pink’s arm, pulled them deeper into the vents, deeper into the shadows, and not a second too late, because the overhead light was blocked by a head. It was the killer. The culprit.

Then, a familiar voice rang out. 

“Yellow!” Green called out. “How long are you going to stay in there?” He sounded a bit distant, like he was standing at the doorway of Electrical instead of inside. 

Yellow? Was she the one up there? Was she the murderer? But why would she take Green with her, unless Green was her accomplice—

“I was just taking a look,” Yellow called back. There was a hint of bite to her tone. She was annoyed. “Seeing if there’s any evidence we missed.”

Purple’s voice came next. “As if you, by yourself, can see something that all of us couldn’t?” he said flatly. 

“Shut up,” Yellow snapped. “I heard something in the vents. And I _swear_ this grate wasn’t open before. It could be worth checking out.”

Oh. Pink deflated. Oh, so it wasn’t the killer. It was just Yellow. Pink had half a mind to climb up there and resolve the whole misunderstanding, when they realised that this… was a pretty suspicious place to get caught in. 

White seemed to realise this too, if the way he kept pulling Pink was any indication. 

Letting the trio’s voices fade, Pink and White crept away into the vents. 

* * *

They resurfaced in the security room. White popped the vent open, easy as anything, shimmied out, and held out a hand for Pink to take. Wordlessly, Pink took it, allowing themself to be guided like some sort of damsel in distress. 

Pink wasn’t a damsel, but they sure were distressed. 

“That was a terrible idea,” they said, their voice cracking two times. 

“I think it was brilliant,” said White appeasingly. 

Pink sat down on the floor and wrapped their arms around their knees. “I’m such a fool. Oh my God. They would’ve thought it was us. I’m just – I don’t—” They took a shaky breath. Swallow it down, swallow it down. “That could’ve ended so badly.”

“Yeah,” agreed White. He joined Pink on the floor. “But it didn’t. You’re safe now.”

 _“We’re_ safe, you mean,” corrected Pink. 

“Sure,” said White. “Look, if anyone tries to accuse you for whatever reason, I’ll always vouch for you.” He puts an arm around Pink’s shoulders. “I promise.”

This time, Pink didn’t resist the urge to lean into White. But they weren’t at ease just yet. 

“Why are you so nice to me?” asked Pink. Something about huddling in the darkness with a fellow crewmate just made the words come easier. “I haven’t been treating you that well. I don’t think I even liked you until – well, today.” Pink turned. Their helmet bumped into White’s. From this close, Pink could see a glimpse of White’s face, and his soft features were troubled: all furrowed eyebrows and downturned mouth. White could probably see Pink’s face as well. 

“I—” he began. Stopped. He started again: “Pink, look at the cameras.”

What?

Pink turned to the screens with the security cameras. Upon first glance, everything seemed to be fine, and Pink’s eyes snagged on what seemed to be Blue sitting on the ground, until Pink looked closer, and realised the dark stains on her suit were blood, trailing to a puddle beneath her—

Swearing was still unbecoming for a leader, but Pink could be forgiven this once, right?

“Oh, _fuck.”_

* * *

Pink pulled the alarm, and instructed, in the calmest tones they could muster, that everyone should meet in the cafeteria. Yellow, Green and Purple arrived first. Red came last, her steps slow and unsure, off-balance without her partner. Pink didn’t know much about their crew, but they knew that Red and Blue had known each other prior to working on the Skeld. 

“Where’s Blue?” said Yellow, looking straight at Red. “You were supposed to stick together.”

“I – I’m not sure,” said Red. “She went off on her own a while ago, and…”

“And you didn’t think to go with her?!”

“I’m sorry!” Red sounded on the brink of tears. “She wasn’t supposed to go that far, but when I looked outside, she was gone, and I was too scared to go search…”

“Red,” said Pink, as gently as they could. “Blue is dead.”

The effect was instantaneous: Red stumbled back as if shot. She made a high, plaintive noise; equal parts shock and grief. It sounded like it was wrenched out from the deepest part of her, forcibly grabbed by the stem and pulled until the roots followed.

“I’m so sorry,” said Pink. Their words were pathetically inadequate.

Red brought her hands up to her face, before realising her helmet was on. She took a shuddering breath. “Where was Blue?” she asked brokenly. 

“I saw her on the security cameras. Her body is outside navigation.”

Green began comforting Red, murmuring assurances to her in low tones. Yellow cursed loudly. Purple remained silent. That is, until he turned to Red, and said: “So, was it you?”

Pink whirled to face him. “Purple, shut the fuck up.” 

“No, _you_ shut up,” he snapped. “Think about it – Red was with Blue the whole time. She was the only one who had the chance.”  
“But _why_ would she do it?” rebutted Pink. 

Purple shrugged. “Beats me.”

“How dare you insinuate—”

“You can’t deny it’s the only logical answer—”

Green tried to speak: “Guys, please stop fighting?”

In unison, Pink and Purple turned to Green. _“No!”_

White raised a hand like he was in class. “Guys, we have a problem.”

“We have several, actually,” Purple corrected, his tone acidic. He didn’t even spare White a glance, like White was insignificant, like he wasn’t even worth hearing out, like he was worthless and puny and voiceless, and Pink just—

Pink couldn’t let that slide. 

They lunged at Purple. 

* * *

When they’d stopped clawing at each other, when Green had pulled them apart, muttering “oh no, oh no” under his breath, when Pink and Purple were sat on opposite ends of a table, did Pink finally look up and realise Yellow and Red were nowhere to be found. “Hey, where did everyone go?”

“Remember the problem I was talking about?” said White. “Yeah, uh, that was it.”

Purple tsked. “If Pink hadn’t _attacked_ me, we could’ve been focusing on that right now—”

“Oh, sure, like you were going to listen to White?”

“You think you’re so much better than me? Always telling me what to do, always acting so stuck-up – _I_ certainly never asked you to be our leader—”

“Shut up!” shouted Green, and he _never_ raised his voice, so Purple jumped in shock. “Will you guys just be quiet?! Please?!”

Pink and Purple fell silent. It wasn’t a happy silence. It was a silence that simmered like an overfull pot; threatening to spill over if someone turned the heat too high. 

“White, did you see where Yellow and Red went?” Green asked. 

White shook his head. 

“Nothing? You didn’t see anything at all?”

“Nope,” said White, popping the ‘p’. 

Purple scoffed. “Typical.”

White had to physically restrain Pink from lunging at Purple a second time. “Let me go!” protested Pink. “I’m defending your honour!”

“Aw, so you _do_ love me,” White cooed. His sweet tone was at odds with the steel band of his arm. No matter how hard Pink struggled, White was too strong, and – okay, that wasn’t unexpected, given the ease that he’d lifted the vent grate with, and it was kind of hot, but Pink didn’t need this right now! 

As if on cue, Yellow showed up. Her footsteps were almost silent. Pink didn’t even notice her until she was already standing there, another figure in bright colour among metallic greys of the cafeteria. Pink was so surprised they forgot about strangling Purple. 

“Yellow!” Green rushed up to her, his hands fluttering, turning her this way and that, gently inspecting her for stab wounds. There was a collective sigh of relief when she appeared unharmed.  
“Where’s Red?” Green asked. 

Yellow didn’t answer. For a moment, a wave of fear crested in Pink’s gut, and they backed away, half-expecting Yellow to pull a knife from behind her back. When Yellow’s arm began to move, Pink almost screamed. But Yellow didn’t have a weapon. She was just pointing to one of the windows in the cafeteria; the biggest one, the one that curved around an entire wall. Pink had often enjoyed breakfast while looking out that window. Eating freeze-dried cereal while marvelling at the galaxy in its full, naked glory was a special experience. 

Pink would never be able to look out that window again. 

Floating against a backdrop of stars and asteroids, enveloped in the velvety-black cradle of outer space, there was Red. 

Her body was still. Her arm was outstretched in a clear parallel to Cyan. Was it one final goodbye? A gesture of supplication? An interrupted accusation? Whatever it was, Pink realised that they’d been too busy fighting with Purple to realise that Red was… 

Another crewmate was dead. 

Pink wasn’t aware shame could eat at you like this, all-consuming and violent, devouring you with a single-minded frenzy, but there were new experiences to be had every day. 

“Red…” Pink said, barely louder than a breath. 

“Yellow, what happened?” Green was saying, clutching at Yellow’s shoulders. “Did Red do this to herself? Was there someone else? Was it…” He trailed off, his voice shrivelling to a quiet, fearful thing. “Was it you?”

Silence descended like the swing of a guillotine. Decisive and swift and deadly, the edge of its blade cutting too close for comfort. 

Then, Yellow nodded. It was unmistakable now: she’d pushed Red out of an airlock.

“We’re safe now,” she said. Her voice sounded strange, almost like she was trying to convince herself, almost like she was phrasing a question instead of stating a fact. “Purple was right. It was the only logical conclusion.”

“We could’ve figured out another way,” protested Pink, their voice rising in panic. “We could’ve – locked her up, or something.”

“And what if she’d escaped?” Yellow bit out. “I had to do it. I couldn’t just let a murderer run free.” She swallowed, hard. It might’ve been the beginnings of a sob. “Red killed _two people,_ Pink! Two people!” 

“But—"

“She was using the vents to move around!” Yellow’s shoulders were quaking now. She looked ready to shake apart, and only Green’s hand on her shoulder was keeping her together. “I knew I heard something in the vents! It was Red – she was running circles around us! And we just _let her_!” Yellow was crying properly now; heaving, desolate sobs that she couldn’t stifle because her helmet was on. In a brutal motion, she yanked it off and tore from the room. All Pink glimpsed was a tangle of brown hair before Yellow had disappeared from view. Her yellow-toned helmet fell to the ground. 

In her wake, there was a heavy silence. Everyone glanced around at each other, the same unspoken question within them, the same unsurety, the same gloom. Yellow had killed Red. But it had been done out of – the greater good, or something. Yellow was clearly grieving in her own way. It was hard to assign blame in this situation.

Red was still floating out the window. Her body would be preserved in the vacuum of space forever, and her hand would be outstretched forever. 

Finally, Green spoke up.

“I’ll go check on Yellow.”

He picked up Yellow’s helmet and walked after her. 

* * *

Pink was back in Comms with White, typing up another message to MIRA headquarters. 

“Call me crazy, but I don’t think it was Red.”

“So, you think the killer is still on board?” White asked. He was sitting beside Pink, his shoulder pressed against theirs, a bright spot of warmth. It comforted Pink beyond words. When had that happened? When had Pink’s perception of White begun shifting? Was it today? Was it when Pink caught a glimpse of White’s face? Did it happen somewhere between the murders, when Pink latched onto White as the only person they knew was innocent, or when White promised that he’d always vouch for Pink? 

Or had it been happening from the start? Looking back, Pink realised they could never bring themself to treat White with the same callousness that the rest of the crew did, and whenever White asked for help, Pink always said yes although they put up a fight, and there was the _touching_ , always the casual touching, like White had realised Pink tolerated him a great deal more than the rest of the crew, and stuck to Pink because of that. Like he’d comprehended Pink’s feelings toward him before Pink even realised.

The crew were the real idiots; White was smarter than any of them.

“Yes,” said Pink, surer than they’d ever felt. “And I think I know who.”

White’s breath caught. “Who is it?”

Pink opened their mouth to tell him. The moment hung like a sheet of glass in mid-air, one loud noise away from shattering, one motion away from falling—

The alarms started blaring.

It wasn’t the emergency alarm this time. The lights shifted, bathing the room in a shade so similar to Red’s suit, pulsing in time to the low drone of the alarm. Anxiety coiled like barbed wire in Pink’s stomach. 

Fuck the Skeld and fuck its shitty workmanship. “Reactor meltdown!” said Pink, already scrambling for the door. “We only have thirty seconds. White, let’s go!”

“Wait!” White stopped Pink with a hand to their arm. “You should stay here and finish the message. I’ll go to the reactor.”

“But—”

“You think the killer is still at loose, right?” White set a hand on the back of Pink’s helmet, bringing them closer until their helmets clacked together. From here, Pink could see him smiling, a rakish grin that looked ill-suited to his soft, boyish face. “I’ll head out. You’ll be safe here.”

Pink fisted a hand in the front of his suit. “But what about you?”

He grinned even wider. “Don’t worry about me.” He gently pried Pink’s hand off of him. “I don’t die so easily.” And with that, he sprinted from the room. 

Pink was left standing, their hand held aloft. It reminded them eerily of Cyan and Red’s last positions, so Pink quickly put their hand down, even wiping it on the wall for good measure. The lights were still flashing, the alarm still droning. More than thirty seconds had passed, surely? 

In a daze, Pink sat back on their chair and finished the message. 

After they’d sent it, the alarm stopped. Pink breathed a sigh of relief. If White had been killed on his way to the reactor, he wouldn’t have stopped the meltdown in time. He was still alive. 

_Or,_ whispered a voice in Pink’s head, _White hadn’t made it to the reactor at all. Maybe Yellow or Green or Purple had stopped it._

Pink peeked out into the hallway. Though it was just as well-lit as the rest of the ship, without White, it suddenly looked dark. A chill went down Pink’s spine. They were just about to go back into Comms, when a sudden motion caught their eye.

It was in Storage, the area further down the hallway, and though Pink only saw a flash, they could’ve sworn it looked a great deal like… 

“White?” Pink called. “White, is that you?”

No answer. Tentatively, Pink stepped into the hallway. 

“Yellow? Green?” they said. “Purple? Are you guys there?”

Still no answer. Pink suddenly felt very foolish, broadcasting their location to a potential murderer. But they’d made it too far out now, and maybe they could just have a _peek_ into Storage, quicker than anything, and duck back out. Yeah. That sounded like a good plan. 

Determination restored, Pink crept forward. 

The lights buzzed overhead. The engine rumbled beneath Pink’s feet, humming a toneless, formless melody. Was the silence always this daunting? Did the ship always appear so lonely, so desolate? Pink didn’t know. All they knew was that they’d had a taste of companionship, and now they were loath to let it go. 

Pink entered Storage. It was a spacious room, but you wouldn’t be able to tell with the sheer volume of boxes around. They were mostly filled with food and repair equipment. Pink didn’t usually bother going into Storage – their tasks were mostly relegated to navigation, shields, asteroids, and wires, of course. There were always wires to be fixed. 

At first glance, there was no one. Pink didn’t allow themself to feel relieved yet. There were piles of boxes clumped around the room, which a person could easily hide behind. 

Pink peeked around one such pile. 

Lo and behold, there was a body. 

Pink thought they’d lost their capacity to feel surprise, but there it was again: that nasty cold-water shock of staring death in its face. It was Green this time. There weren’t any visible wounds, but there was that peculiar stillness to him – the same stillness that Cyan and Red had. 

“Oh, Green,” whispered Pink, crouching down beside him. His body was propped up against the boxes, and his neck looked bent at an uncomfortable angle. Pink reached up to adjust it. They didn’t know what else to do; they couldn’t take off his helmet to close his eyes, and they didn’t know any prayers. 

“So, you’re also a murderer.”

Pink wrenched their hands away from Green, but it was too late. Yellow stepped out from behind the pile. Her footsteps were so silent, Pink hadn’t even heard her approach. 

“The murderer always comes back to the scene of the crime.” Yellow’s voice sounded hollow. “I found him first. I thought I’d leave him for a bit. I didn’t think it’d actually work.”

“It wasn’t me,” said Pink urgently. “I found him like this.”

“Save it,” snarled Yellow. She took a step forward, hostility radiating from every line of her, and Pink took a step back. “You might’ve had everyone else fooled, but you couldn’t fool me. I knew there was _something_ about you. I knew you were hiding more than you let on. I thought you were just a shit leader. Turns out,” she paused, like disgust had overwhelmed her ability to speak, “you were a murderer all along.”

There was a ventilation grate in Storage. Pink had forgotten it was there. But now, with it slowly cracking open, Pink didn’t think they’d forget ever again. 

“Yellow…”

Yellow ignored Pink and continued barrelling on. “I knew there was a reason you hung out with White so much today. An idiot like him must be easy to manipulate, huh? You wanted an alibi, so you—”

Pink tuned her out. Behind Yellow, the grate continued to lift. Sinuous and silent, serpentine-like, Purple climbed out. 

He looked up. Pink couldn’t see his eyes through his helmet, but they knew he was looking right at them. 

_“You,”_ Pink said, cutting Yellow off. “I knew it was you.”

Yellow spun around, the action wild with panic, before relaxing when she saw Purple. “Oh, it’s just you.”

“He’s the murderer!” cried Pink. “Don’t you see? He was one who found Cyan’s body, and he used the vents to kill Blue when she was alone, and he—”

“Pink’s trying to cast the blame onto me instead,” said Purple, infuriatingly calm. “Yellow, don’t be fooled.”

Yellow just nodded. “I know. Purple, help me with this.” 

“Of course.”

They both raised their hands and stepped forward. Pink backed up, panic thrashing like a wild beast in their chest. “What are you doing?” None of them answered, but they exchanged a silent glance and advanced even quicker. Pink glanced over their shoulder. As they expected, the door to the airlock was directly behind them. 

“Yellow, you have to believe me,” Pink tried again, their voice shrill with terror. “It’s Purple; it’s been Purple all along.”

Their words might as well have been thin air, for all that Yellow paid attention to them. Pink tried to make a run for it, but Purple grabbed them roughly and shoved them back. When Pink stumbled, Yellow hoisted them up and continued pushing them toward the airlock. Finally, there was nowhere left to run. Pink was all but pressed up against the door to the airlock, and Yellow’s hand was on the switch. 

“Yellow, please—”

“That’s enough,” Yellow said, and pulled the lever. 

Several things happened at once. Sound vanished; Pink’s ears popped as the subglacial vacuum pressed in and pulled on them all at once. A human could only last fifteen seconds in open space before passing out. With the suit and helmet, Pink estimated upwards of a minute before they succumbed to darkness. 

The door whirred shut. 

Stuck on the outside, Pink watched in numb acceptance as Purple pulled a device from his pocket and pressed a switch on it. Pink continued watching as the device expanded to its full length, and – oh. That was how you hid a knife. Yellow turned too slowly. Purple plunged the blade into her abdomen, and whatever hope Pink had for Yellow fizzled out as Purple twisted the knife, a vicious _one_ , _two, three,_ before pulling out. Yellow collapsed like a marionette with its strings cut. 

Well. That was that, then. Pink only wished they were able to tell White who the real imposter was – speaking of White, where was he? He’d practically vanished after going to the reactor. Even when Yellow was throwing up a racket in storage, White hadn’t come.

Did he think Pink wasn’t worth saving? Did he decide, in the end, to hide away and save himself instead? Pink couldn’t blame him. It was a natural human response to preserve the self, first and foremost. 

But White had promised to vouch for Pink. He said that Pink would be safe. He was the only one on board that Pink had trusted throughout this whole ordeal. He wasn’t an idiot at all. He was kind and dependable and had surprisingly strong arms. He was—

He—

He was here. 

Like an avenging angel, White rushed into storage. There were huge rips in the right leg of his suit and his left arm, like someone had plunged a knife in them, and a dark liquid was dribbling from the punctures.

Purple reeled back in shock. Then he threw out an arm, wildly gesturing, and he looked like he was talking – no, _yelling_. White yelled right back, advancing on Purple with anger in every line of his body. Suddenly, Pink understood: Purple had incapacitated White at some point, probably on his way back from the reactor, which left Pink without a protector, and gave Purple and Yellow a chance to push Pink out of the airlock, then Purple would kill Yellow and go right back for White – yes, that was it, that was the whole story—

White pulled something from his pocket. 

It was the same device that Purple held. 

In one swift motion, White extended it to its full size, and Pink watched, uncomprehending, as White advanced on Purple. Purple waved his hands around, probably trying to reason with White, but it was obvious that White wasn’t listening. Purple tried to run. In his haste, his foot caught on a box. He toppled over, and it didn’t seem quite real, like Pink was watching a movie instead of real life, when White’s knife plunged into Purple’s helmet. 

It shouldn’t have been possible. Their helmets were sturdy, lined with protective material, designed to withstand temporary oxygen deficiencies. Yellow’s helmet wasn’t so much as scratched when she threw it to the ground. 

But somehow, with a strength that bordered on inhuman, White’s knife struck true. Purple’s helmet splintered into a million shards. Pink couldn’t see his face from where he lay on the ground, which Pink was thankful for. Purple tried to struggle. He thrashed against White’s hold, until White pressed the knife deeper, and Purple fell still. 

White stood. He stared at Purple’s corpse. The knife in his hand dripped slowly.

 _It’s going to stain his suit,_ Pink thought wildly, grasping at what little logic remained. _Blood is hard to wash out._

Then White looked out at Pink, who was still drifting in open space, untethered, and he seemed to come back to life. He ran up to the window of the airlock, pressing his hands against it, panic writ into every motion, and Pink’s mind spun, trying to make sense of it all: Purple and White both had weapons. Were they working together? Was White supposed to kill Pink? Then why had he left Pink alive this whole time, letting Purple massacre the rest of the crew, but doing none of the massacring himself? And the bleeding wounds in White’s arm and leg – Purple had clearly attacked him, but that only could’ve happened if White resisted, if White protested against killing Pink, and now he had slain Purple and was pressed up against the airlock, gazing outwards, searching for a response from Pink, some sign that they hadn’t left him. 

Sound didn’t travel in space, but Pink could’ve sworn they heard their name being called. 

They wanted to call back. They wanted to reach for White, in lieu of their last words; an unspoken thanks, a final goodbye. 

Pink didn’t get the chance to. 

Space was two poles of a magnet, a living contradiction, both ends of the extreme. Supernovas bloomed and died in its frigid vacuum, stars were born in blazes of brilliant flame and gas, and met their spectacular end in the star-speckled hands of the universe, folding back to the darkness from which they came. Space was ruthless, holding no compassion for neither man nor machine that ventured into its clutches. 

But Pink could see White, a spot of light amongst it all. Pink could see stars. Jewel-bright pinpricks of light, shining defiantly in the blackness, radiant against the odds. 

Pink was cold to the bone. Darkness stretched like a gaping maw, but they weren’t afraid.

Pink took a final, shuddering breath, and let themself join the stars. 

* * *

“... Pink?” 

“... up! Pink, wake up!”

_“Pink!”_

Pink came to consciousness. They felt like they’d been frozen, shattered, and unthawed within the span of seconds. Their teeth were chattering. Their lips were freezing solid as they opened their mouth. Pink tried to say something, but their tongue felt iced-over. 

“Pink!” 

That was White’s voice. What was White doing here? Had he hurled himself out the airlock after Pink? That was a stupid decision, even for him. 

Oh, wait. Pink shouldn’t be thinking that. White was perfectly smart and capable in his own way, and if he decided that he’d rather die with Pink than live any longer, well. It was still pretty foolish. 

Pink felt the wild urge to laugh. What came out was a high, gurgling noise. 

“Pink, it’s okay, I’ve got you.”

Something soft pressed against Pink’s face. A washcloth. Pink hadn’t realised their helmet was off. The cloth felt searing hot to the touch, and Pink tried to shy away, but White was persistent, wiping away the coldness until Pink could actually feel their face muscles again. 

Pink blinked their eyes open. 

They were sitting in a spacecraft. Not just any spacecraft – this one looked sleek and modern and _new,_ with its stiff upholstery and gleaming dashboard. It was the kind of ship that Pink had dreamed of piloting after their graduation. They were impressed for a moment, before they realised that, 1. They were not dead, and 2. White was here too, and 3. Wait, how was Pink not dead? 

Pink smacked their lips. Good, they could move their face now. “What…?”

“Oh, thank goodness you’re okay,” White said, the words tumbling out of him in a rush. His helmet was off too, and when Pink turned their head, they received an eyeful of cute, worried boy. If Pink wasn’t already warmed up, they sure were now. White continued to babble: “I was so scared – I thought I wouldn’t make it in time, and you were so cold when I carried you inside—”

“Stop talking,” interrupted Pink. Now that the cobwebs of almost-certain-death had been dashed from their brain, Pink had _questions_. 

They took White in, head-to-toe. The punctures in his suit were still there, but now that Pink was looking closer, they realised the dark liquid wasn’t actually blood, it was… oil? Pink tested their limbs. They had regained motor function, almost. They reached out and took White’s arm. Underneath the torn fabric, where there should’ve been skin and muscle, was instead a dented flesh-coloured panel. In a daze, Pink cracked it open. 

Inside was a mess of wires and flashing machinery. 

Pink knew, all at once, that if they inspected White’s leg, they would find the same thing. 

“You’re a…?”

White smiled. “I’m still human, actually.” He pulled off the glove on his other hand. A warm, human hand cupped Pink’s cheek. “I’ve just got a few missing parts.”

“An arm and a leg?”

“Yep.”

“So _that’s_ why Purple wasn’t able to incapacitate you.” 

White nodded grimly, retracting his hand. The spot it left behind felt strangely cold. “Yeah. It’s also how I broke his helmet.” Inhuman strength indeed.

Pink had too many questions and no idea where to start. They should probably feel more afraid. They were alone in a spacecraft with a killer, after all.

A spacecraft. That was an easy place to begin. 

“Where are we?” asked Pink. They glanced out the window. A metal hull took up most of the view, and Pink’s mind blanked for a second, before they realised: “That – that’s the Skeld.”

“Yeah.”

“This ship was parked here the whole time?”

“Yep.”

“How come I didn’t notice?” demanded Pink. “It should’ve shown up on the sensors. The Skeld’s useless, but it’s not _that_ useless.”

White ducked his head. He looked faintly embarrassed, for whatever reason. “Remember what you said about the cloaking tech?”

Huh?

Pink struggled to recall their words. They’d said something about cloaking tech being available to the higher military… and the blueprints… _MIRA’s got the blueprints guarded around the clock_ , Pink remembered saying, _you’d have to risk an arm and a leg to get them._

Comprehension dawned on Pink like a heavy pigeon alighting on a delicate branch: lightly, then all at once. 

An arm. And a leg. 

_“What the fuck,”_ said Pink, and meant every word. 

White laughed nervously. “It’s a long story?”

“No shit,” snapped Pink. Their head felt like it was about to spin off entirely. “How did you – no, wait. Were you and Purple working together? How come – why didn’t you kill me? You had so many chances!”

White didn’t answer. The silence stretched between them like taffy, flame-warmed and cloying. The air was so thick you could cut it with a knife – oops. Too soon.

White looked up. His eyes were filled with some unnameable emotion when he stared at Pink. Something dark, searching, the weight of it pressing down on Pink’s shoulders like an embrace. 

Clarity came to Pink, but it wasn’t an unpleasant realisation. Not like the cold, sharp shock of seeing a corpse, not like the sickening awe of seeing a knife plunge into a person’s chest. It was softer, this time. It was the slow crest of the sun over the horizon. The luxurious sensation of sinking into a warm bath. The utter security of being in the arms of someone you trusted. 

“Do I really have to say it?” asked White. His cheeks were aflame; the image of a blushing schoolboy. The situation was so absurd, Pink had to laugh. White looked momentarily hurt, but Pink flapped a hand at him, still laughing, and managed to choke out: “I get it, I get it, it’s alright.”

“Do you…?”

“Idiot,” said Pink, too fond and too soft. “I like you too.”

When White surged forward, Pink met him halfway. It was a clumsy embrace, on account of their bulky spacesuits and Pink’s limbs still being kind-of-frozen, but they made it work. Despite all the deception, the confusion, and the hiding, at least this had a straightforward answer. 

Pink knew they would have to talk more later. Pink knew that things, currently – with the cooling bodies on the Skeld, the weapon lying in White’s pocket and the blood on his hands – were pretty terrible. MIRA would be here soon in response to Pink’s messages. There was an unknown spacecraft parked on the underside of the Skeld. Purple had died an impossible death. Red’s body was still drifting in open space. 

Pink reluctantly extracted themself from White’s embrace. They schooled their expression into something solemn. “When MIRA gets here, you let me do all the talking, okay?” they said. “Things are looking pretty bad for you, but just leave it to me.”

White’s gaze trailed somewhere past Pink’s shoulder. “Uh, you won’t have to worry about that.”

“Huh?”

“I think the reactor’s melting down again.”

_“What.”_

Pink spun around to look. Before their very eyes, the Skeld crumpled in on itself like a tissue, before beginning to expand, quicker than anything – and Pink realised they had to leave, _now._ They shook White’s shoulder. “We have to go!” 

But White had frozen, staring down at the controls with clear panic on his face. 

“White? White, what are you doing?” 

The Skeld visibly creaked and swelled. The red-hot glow of heated metal started seeping out the cracks. 

“I don’t actually know how to drive,” White admitted. “Purple was one who got us here.”

Pink was going to scream. The Skeld looked to be on the verge of an explosion and White _didn’t know how to pilot_ and they were going to survive a murderer only to die because of a stupid reactor meltdown, and—

Wait. 

_“I’m_ driving,” Pink said, elbowing White aside.

“Do you even know how?” he cried. 

“I was ranked first in my class, actually!” Pink boasted, settling their hands on the controls.

The dashboard lit up. Some of the symbols were unrecognisable and the navigation pad was located weirdly and the joystick had three extra buttons, but Pink had been in this kind of hotseat a million times, and then some. They’d performed class-wide demonstrations. They’d navigated an asteroid belt in a simulation and come out with nary a scratch. Piloting something like this – something sleek and modern and only slightly foreign – should be a breeze.

The joystick felt clammy with Pink’s sweat. With their other hand, they pressed a switch, and the engine came alive beneath them, rumbling and warm, or maybe that was just the residual heat from the Skeld. 

MIRA would never witness the full gory scene. All the bodies would be burnt. It was the closest you could get to a cremation in space, Pink supposed. Hopefully, everyone would be able to rest in peace. 

Except Purple. Fuck that guy. 

“When we get back to Earth,” Pink said, shooting White a narrow-eyed glare _._ “You’d better explain _everything._ ”

White smiled, bright and happy and only a little daunted. “Aye-aye, captain!”

Without a backward glance, Pink took flight. 

**Author's Note:**

> This was lowkey inspired by arahir's 'imposter syndrome', so please so check that out! 
> 
> Thanks for reading! I don't even know why I wrote this! Among Us has consumed my soul! Comments and kudos are my lifeblood! I crave validation, so please feed it to me!!!


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